I'm the quiet type. I was the kid who could go all day without speaking and not feel weird or as though I needed to get something off my chest. Part of it was my personality. I never liked to talk much. I was a kid of few words... or something. No one ever really noticed that I didn't talk much. My brother tended to hold the spotlight and I didn't really mind. As long as it wasn't on me, I was fine.

Hello, world. My name is Matthew Williams and I was a selective mute.

It all started when my mother was killed by her boyfriend, Mikey. I saw everything. Alfred was at a soccer game and it was just me at home. Mikey said that if I said anything, evener, he would kill me. He meant that if I ever turned him in, he would killed me. But I took it a completely different way. I never talked again.

That is, until I met Gilbert Beilschmidt. He saved me when I almost got hit by a car and when he found out I didn't talk, he promised to get my voice back for me. I didn't believe him.

As they days went on, Gilbert and I became friends. He protected me from bullies, he stayed with me when my brother left for a football tournament trip to Canada, and he took care of me when I was sick. Soon, we became much more than friends. We started dating even though I didn't speak, even though Alfred was against it, even though Gilbert's friends hated it; hated us.

Then, when I got hit by another car, I entered a dream-like state where I was able to speak with my mother again. She helped me to talk again. She showed me that there was nothing to be afraid of, that Mikey was gone, and that I could live a nice happy life. Call it a dream if you will, but I swear on my life it was as real as my left hand. Thanks to her, and Gilbert too, I've got my voice back. I have my voice, a boyfriend, and a wonderful life ahead of me.

When the end of senior year came, I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. Gilbert and I went to Miami State. Gilbert had decided to become a police officer, but I didn't know what I wanted to do. I had never thought I would be going to college, so I never planned for a career. Then, when I got the course selection sheet, I saw it. Physiology. I knew then and there that I wanted to help other kids just like me. I wanted to do something that would make a difference in the world. I wanted to let others know that they're not alone; that I know what it's like feeling as though nobody cares. And I wanted to show them that there really is someone who they can talk to.

Now, four years later, I am twenty one, living in a nice, two bedroom apartment with my boyfriend, Gilbert, who is a Miami City police officer. I work at a building along with other physiologists and therapists. Another woman and I are the two child therapists. I usually take younger children, those with depression and family problems such as divorce or abuse. The other therapists usually gets cases dealing with drugs and alcohol addicted teenagers. Sometimes our cases will overlap and we will have the same kid who simply sees both of us.

Alfred and I are still in touch, though he now lives in Boston with Arthur. He was the star player on the BC football team and was drafted by the NFL. He now plays for the Patriots. Arthur often comes with him to away games (though he claims football is a waste of time) as he doesn't have a job that ties him down to one place. He became an author, and a best selling one at that. He majored in education in college, so when he finishes his series, he plans on become a teacher. Whenever Alfred comes to Florida, he and Arthur stay with Gilbert and I. This is why we have a full bed in the guest room. Because we all know they share a bed, even if they claim to be no more than just roommates.

I step back into my office after taking a short break before my last session for the day. I sit down at my desk and pull out the paper, though the schedule hasn't changed. Her name is Jenna Wilder and she has been my last appointment on Fridays for the past two and a half months now. It saddens me to say this, but most of the kids who come to me have sad stories. Jenna is no exception.

Her parents died three months ago. They were both drug dealers, wrapped up in a world of violence and murder, dragging Jenna along with them. They were able to escape social services and Jenna was forced to remain with her parents who, when drunk or high, would abuse her. At fourteen, she understands that it was the drugs that made them that way and she still loves and misses them.

She has been told many times that it is normal and alright to still love her parents and miss them. Because, in the end, they still raised her. However, the problem started when she was sent to live with her Uncle in Miami. At first things seemed as normal as could be expected. However, her uncle grew worried when she would ask if he would hit her. She turned to self harm since her parents weren't there to hurt her and she had come to view pain as a comfort. Her uncle brought her to me and I've been working with her since.

She's stubborn and often will refuse to do the activities I ask her to do. A few times, we just sat there, staring at each other until the session was over. Still, she is starting to open up a little.

The door opens and a young girl walks in. Her escort, the secretary, nods to me and returns to her desk. Today, Jenna is dressed in her usual oversized black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. She has dark makeup caked on which has always made me sad. She's a pretty girl; she doesn't need all that stuff on her face. But I don't say anything. That's not my job.

She takes a sweat on the red couch and looks at me expressionless in response to the kind smile I offer. With a sigh, I begin.

"G-Good afternoon, Jenna. H-How was your day?" I am not the most eloquent person in the world, but I try. I will admit that I am very shy when I meet another person, or even a patient. Thankfully, this helps show them that I don't judge them; that I have my own problems and weaknesses.

"Fine," she says curtly and focuses on a picture on the side wall.

"Well, that's better than having a bad day!" I laugh weakly and she scowls at the painting in response. I guess I don't have the best jokes in the ever. "Anyway, do you want to tell me about your day?" Sometimes she will tell me everything, even the boring parts. Other times, she is as silent as a rock. It's unpredictable; it all depends on her mood that day.

"Not really," she says still not looking at me. I can tell this is going to be a tough day, so I decide to start.

"Well, this morning I got up and made breakfast. Pancakes. Unfortunately, Gilbert tried to help..." I sigh, remembering the events of the past morning. "He ended up burning the pancakes, his finger, and he broke the right front burner." I sigh again, mentally reminding myself to call someone about the burner. I then look at Jenna, hoping to get a laugh or even a smile. However, she doesn't even move. She just shrugs her shoulders and crosses her arms. Well, damn. The old women three hours ago usually gets a kick out of Gilbert's antics. Most people do. I must say, Gilbert is a good icebreaker.

But Jenna just doesn't seem to be responding, so I just fold my hands on my desk and look at her expectantly. She doesn't look back at me. She does, however, start to speak two minutes later.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks accusingly. I blink at the sudden and harsh question.

"W-Well because it was something to say and maybe get a conversation going..." I reply, my face turning red with embarrassment. Cure my shyness!

"You act as though we're friends! Well, we're not," Jenna spits out. "You don't know me! You think you do, but you don't!"

I pause at her outburst, flinching a little, but I couldn't say I was surprised. While she had yet to shout like that in the time I had been seeing her, I had experienced other clients who would just start screaming out of nowhere. Sometimes they would just keep going and even personally attack me. However, Jenna seemed to have calmed down a little. Sometimes, shouting can help.

"Jenna...?" I venture, but she turns her head. I sigh a bit. "Why can't we be friends?"

She looks at me for a moment, scowling and glaring. "Because I'm just your patient. You make money off of me and that's all you care about. I'm just a little freak show you have to help because it's your job."

I frown a bit at her words. They hurt, I'm not going to lie. A lot of patients have pulled that card before and it has always been hard to get them to understand I am not in this for the money in any way, shape, or form and that I really want to help them.

"Jenna," I say softly. "In the two years that I have been here, I have never thought about the money. I went into this so I could help kids who are like me." And that was the honest truth. This little speech usually gets people to pause and take a step back, then ask the question.

"Like you?" Jenna asks with a raised eyebrow after a long pause. Bingo! I smile at her and nod.

"When I was a little younger than you, my mother died and I never knew my father," I tell her. "My brother, Alfred, and I were sent to live with our aunt in New York City."

"New York? You're from New York City?" she asks in amazement.

"Boston, actually. That's where my brother and I were born. Al's still a die-hard fan of the Red Sox and plays football for the Patriots. We moved to New York after out father left us when we were three. We lived in a small town, so moving to the city was a huge change."

"I'm from a small town," Jenna mumbles sadly. "I don't like being here in such a huge city. It makes me feel like I'm small, like I don't belong. And everyone at school already has friends; I'm all left out and I don't think I can make any new ones."

I nod and offer a small smile. "I know how that is. I didn't have any real friends until my senior year of high school." I smile a bit, thinking of Gilbert. I think about going into how we met, but this session isn't for me to tell my life history. This is purely for Jenna. "It's always hard being the new kid. Just be yourself and you'll be fine. Your uncle told me that it's almost time to start joining clubs and teams at school. I was in speech and debate my senior year. That was a lot of fun for me."

"I don't think I have the courage to do speech and debate," Jenna replied, averting her eyes down to the carpeted ground. "Or any club or sport for that matter."

I chuckle a bit and smile at her. "You know, I never thought I would have the courage to either. When I was younger, I had a condition known as selective mutism. I couldn't talk. I was literally scared out of it. But then I got my voice back after meeting Gilbert." She looks at me for a few moments, her mouth open. I smile, sensing that I might have finally gotten through to her.

"I think... I think I might try out... For speech and debate, then." She finally says after a good three minutes of silence. She sounds a but unsure, if not skeptical, but it sounds like I've inspired her a bit which makes me very happy. It's nice to know that I can inspire people when I used to think I was just a waste of space. "Maybe the basketball team," Jenna goes on, thinking out loud and inviting me to listen to her thoughts. "I used to play when I was younger."

"Really?" I asked, sounding cheery. "What was that like for you?" She then launches into a long story of how she used to play basketball and that she made a lot of friends on the team. This is the most she's ever talked in all of our sessions combined! I can tell she now feels a little more at ease.

What makes me the happiest, though, is when she gets up and gives me a big hug at the end of our session. I smile at her and she gives me an honest smile back before leaving. I sit down and jot a few more notes in my notebook before getting my stuff to go home.

The walk home is always nice; at least I think it is. For city streets, they're pretty clean. It's a breath of fresh air from where I used to live. We didn't live in a very nice area, so the walks to and from home always feel cleaner and nicer. There's hardly any smoke and you don't pass a lot of dirty homes or people.

Gilbert and I rest a nice, two bedroom apartment a mile from my building. I absolutely love it! Maybe it's because I've never lived in such a nice place before. Maybe it's because I'm sharing a house with the one man I truly love. And yeah, Gilbert doesn't like doing chores, and yeah, he's not allowed to touch the stove. But I still love him more than anything... Somehow.

I tap on the door before unlocking it so Gilbert doesn't get caught off guard. No, I know he's not doing anything bad or dirty and he's never asked me to knock first, but because he's a cop, he's wary of sudden movements and we do have a tazer in the house, so I'm just careful.

As I step into the house and hang up my coat, however, the smell in the house is simply awful! I drop my briefcase in favor of holding my nose. Either Gilbert tried to cook or he tried to clean. I don't see smoke, so I'm thinking it's the later.

"Hey! How was work, babe?" Gilbert appears from the guestroom and into my line of vision. He's smiling that cocky smile from ear to ear as he pulls me into a hug. I continue to hold my nose. "Doesn't the house look great, babe? The totally awesome me cleaned while you were gone!" Oh great. So he did try to clean.

"You cleaned?" I ask, my voice distorted and nasally from holding my nose. "What did you use? Dog poop?" I really don't mean to sound mean and I hope he isn't hurt, but Mon Dieu, it smells in here!

Gilbert's face falls into a frown. "I used the stuff in the drain, like you said to." I groan. Leave it to Gilbert to mess up the simplest of directions.

"No, Gil. I said that if you wanted to do me a favor by cleaning, use the stuff under the drain. Not in the drain! Didn't you stop to think that maybe it didn't smell very clean, so maybe it wasn't the right stuff to clean with?" Gilbert looks down and I sigh.

"No... Sorry, Mattie." He sounds so heartbroken and now I feel bad. He doesn't mean to do silly things and I know he just wanted to help. When I place a small kiss on his cheek, he smiles a bit.

"It's okay. I don't feel like cooking anyway, so let's really clean up the house and we can order take-out or a pizza," I suggest. Gilbert smiles brightly and nods.

"That sounds awesome!" I laugh at his enthusiasm before going to the find the right cleaning stuff.

Yes, life with Gilbert is a bit unconventional and sometimes it's as though I'm taking care of a child. Yes, Gilbert does silly things like forgetting his work uniform and cleaning the house with whatever the heck is in the sink drain. But this is the live I live and I love it. I wouldn't have it any other way.

And there you have it; the new story.

This is the sequel to Through the Silence. I advise you to read that, or at least skim it over, before reading this. I think I've explained everything, but you never know, so it might be best.

Unfortunatly, you'll have to wait a while for updates. I'm being extremely stupid by posting this now when not only do I have other fic, but I also have school and the second chapter not even started.

You guys have given me so many ideas through your reviews and I did decide to go with the adoption... I hope that's okay D: I don't want to disappoint and I promise that, unlike a lot of children OC stories, this will be about Matt and Gilbert taking care of the child rather than about the child herself.

I'm also really nervous because Mattie's actually talking in this fic. I'm scared to write him out of character. So please, PLEASE tell me if he is. Don't just tell me he is, point it out and tell me how you think he would react/say/do/whatever.

Yes, Gil is a cop. I asked some friends what they thought he should be and I got porn star and stripper .-.
Yeah, thanks guys.

I don't have a whole plot thought out yet, so suggestions are appreciated. Like, REALLY appreciated.

AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 400 REVIEWS ON THROUGH THE SILENCE.
OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU ALL!

Uhhhhh let's see... this A/N is so long. I promise my others won't be! Uhm, so please review! PLEASE! AND follow me on Tumblr for updates! I'm kittyfaeriex . tumblr . com (no spaces)